[ Somehow, it takes him a couple of seconds to truly realise the significance of what he's just done - he's not only stepped inside Elio's home, he's done it at the worst possible time, when he feels like he's carrying his emotional innards outside his body, for all to see. It's disturbing. He briefly considers leaving again, to give Elio's own space time to settle itself in his wake, to go back to its regular state of being... small, mundane, unremarkable. Because that's what it is, at first glance. When he looks around, he sees... books. Preciously few square feet of empty space. A couch that doesn't look particularly luxurious and - does it double as his bed? There's so little space in here.
Kitchen. Windows. Oh, and a grand that definitely doesn't belong to him. The good people at Steinway do so enjoy giving out favours themselves, don't they. There's a reason he's got two of their instruments at home, obviously, they've got things in common. He looks down at his hands while Elio clears the couch and sits down at the end of it.
Things in common, certainly. And some that set them apart in the worst of ways. Presumably, hm. He doesn't know whether they've in fact murdered anyone at Steinway's or how. Frankly, it's surprisingly hard to tell - those people mean business. He frowns at Elio's question, glancing over at him. ]
I don't. Want to talk.
[ He wets his lips again. Moves to the piano and looks it over, brushing his fingers over the lid. ]
Tried talking, you see, and it didn't work.
[ He takes a deep breath, the air shuddering out of him on exhalation. She'd looked beyond terrified, Linda, and not because he'd killed his brother, oh no. At that, she'd merely nodded. Like she'd expected no better of him, like it didn't even surprise her. What truly set her off, well! Lucifer, naturally! As he is, regardless of his actions.
He has to turn away from the piano to avoid smashing a hole in it. Instead, he paces back to the couch, looking down at Elio. Paces away. Paces back. Repeat. Repeat. ]
[ His home is so unremarkable compared to Lucifer's, but Elio has no hang-ups about his own way of living, he doesn't compare himself to a lot of people, not on that basis. As such, he lets Lucifer look around and come to his own conclusions, watching him as he moves around the small space, ending up by the piano, the one real luxury item in here and, naturally, not Elio's own. Just a work tool he's borrowed. He watches him as he runs his fingers over the lid, that caressing motion which, for a moment, feels like he's touching Elio as well. Elio shifts in his seat, making more comfortable and leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands folded in front of him. Lucifer doesn't want to talk which is maybe unsurprising, he's already said quite enough to paint the picture of the rest.
Tried talking, and it didn't work.
Elio nods, slowly. You might imagine what would happen if Lucifer told anyone else that he'd killed his brother, people who didn't know or didn't truly believe who he was, what he was, what world order he was part of. Elio is only containing the info like this, because he thinks he understands how all Lucifer's real battles exist on another plane and the scale of them fits heavenly proportions. In a Heaven where a father casts out his son for rebelling, what is the next logical step? The next horrible, inhumane call to make? Even people kill people and often for a good reason, why wouldn't the Devil - who represents all of humanity, too?
A slow exhalation, to counter Lucifer's shaking one. ] Then, we won't talk. [ His voice is soft, but self-assured, it's just a statement of fact. It isn't about sating his curiosity, this, it's not about explaining things to him he holds little chance of understanding, even with all the explanations in the world. It's the other way around, Elio's here for him. Whatever he needs and he doesn't want to talk, he says, turning away from the piano and looking equal parts nauseous and rage-filled which should maybe frighten him, but doesn't do that either. No, Elio wants to touch him, he wants to wrap his fingers around him, his hand, his wrist, cup his face, stroking his thumb over his jawline until it loses some of the tension.
As Lucifer paces back and forth, coming within touching distance and removing himself again, Elio just follows him with his eyes. Finally, after a few restless circles, Elio reaches out as the other man comes close enough again, grabs his hand and wraps both his own around it. It's not a hold, he isn't keeping him from putting distance between them again, should he want to. It's a gesture. Stay, it says, do what you have to, say whatever you have to. It mirrors the first day they met, Elio holding his hand on Lucifer's balcony, presuming nothing by it. ]
Like I already told you yesterday, I'm here regardless.
[ Elio's voice is quiet, soft but with an undercurrent of steadiness that seems to follow him, like an inherent personality trait. Lucifer wonders, not for the first time, how a man like him ever ended up like this, living this quiet, limbo-like existence and reaching out for the Devil in his sleep. He's too kind for something like this. It doesn't suit him. It's like they're opposites in that respect - Lucifer was a bad fit for Heaven, whilst Elio's the type who ought to be there, really, rather than here. The thought makes something in his chest ache, a deep, dark weight that he can't understand. He thinks about Chloe, too. About the long, unyielding stretch of eternity waiting for him on the other side of their tiny, tiny life spans.
Then, Elio takes his hand between both of his, his grip as un-presumptuous as it was when Lucifer had him over during the murder case. He stares down between them, at their linked hands, thinking he could pull away as easily as he draws breath. But he doesn't. For a long moment, he simply stands there, Elio's warmth spreading across his own skin, sweet and gentle and unhurried. I'm here, he says.
Lucifer looks away, then. Settles down gingerly on the couch next to Elio before withdrawing his hand, curling it against his own knee instead and feeling quite hopelessly lost. He thinks about the two of them yesterday, on the verge of another meaningless fuck, how they'd shifted away from it. He can't remember doing anything like that before, not ever. With a deep, exhausted sigh, he finally tips sideways a little, leaning his shoulder against Elio's. There's a part of him that feels wretched for it, for touching him when he hasn't... when he can't even find a way to punish himself sufficiently, to bring his brother some sort of justice, untimely as these things always are.
Instead, he's asking for what? Comfort? Understanding?
He shuts his eyes tightly, tears spilling down his cheeks. He wipes at them a bit uselessly, though he doesn't draw away or try to hide them. Please. He's a murderer. There's quite enough to be ashamed of, thanks, without adding basic feelings to the mix. ]
[ There's a long stretch of unresponsiveness, in which Lucifer just stands there and lets him, lets Elio touch him, hold him, embracing his hand like a glove. Soft and protective. Then, the shift happens and the other man looks away, seating himself next to Elio on the couch, withdrawing his hand and curling it against his knee, convulsively almost. Another intermission, silence, just the sound of their respective breathing, Elio's calmer than Lucifer's and Lucifer's tired, tried. With a deep sigh, he finally just tips sideways until their shoulders touch, leaning his weight on Elio, a large tree falling, I'm yelling timber, it says. Elio doesn't budge, doesn't move an inch, except to reach up with his right arm, sliding it over the other man's shoulders, not quite at the top of them, he can't reach that part easily from here, it's the height difference between them, right, but his shoulder blades and spine and the breadth of his back that feels warm and slightly shaky against him.
He's crying. Lucifer's crying openly and without shame and Elio loves him for it, loves him for showing him this part of himself, too. He makes a soft hmm'ing sound, biting his lower lip and leaning back against the other man, letting him feel his weight and his presence in return. ]
I know nothing's okay, Lucifer.
[ He's listening, he's hearing what he is saying and to whatever degree it matters, Elio understands. Killing your brother will upset the world order as you knew it, it will turn everything upside down, what you loved about yourself, you'll grow to hate and what you hated, you'll only hate more. He can't even imagine the feeling of it. The scale, the size, the weight in your chest. How much your heart must break.
But he's willing to stay and carry and hold together what's left, because what's left, he thinks and turns his head, looking sideways at the other man as he wipes at his face, tears trickling down his cheeks, nose, lips, what's left is perfect just like this. ]
[ Elio puts his arm around his shoulders and his first instinct is to shrug him off, it's not like it'll help, it won't make him feel any less worthless, knowing that... That Elio's affections are so incredibly misguided. Would he touch him if he actually knew? He thinks about Linda again, Linda who's seen so many sides of him already and yet, with regards to this... He wipes at his eyes again. His entire bloody face feels sodden and suddenly, he'd like nothing better than to tear it off. Did it with his wings, didn't he, this would only be slightly more difficult and then, surely, everyone would believe and he wouldn't...
You can let it out, says Elio and he sounds so incredibly sincere, like he really does mean it, it's not just a baseless platitude, something you say for the sake of empty comfort. The other man's here, after all, he's touching him and leaving him be at the same time and Lucifer didn't even know you could do that. Is that what people do? You can talk to me about it, Chloe had said, but offering an ear isn't the same as this. Somehow, this feels bigger. Like the difference between taking a deep breath whilst standing in an empty room versus doing so from a rooftop beneath the open sky.
I don't mind.
Lucifer doesn't feel his face changing. It happens sometimes like that. Consequently, as he leans his (bald, burned) head against the side of Elio's face, he doesn't realise exactly what he's doing, too caught up in the weightlessness in his body, how he can't feel anything but this endless, boundless grief. ]
[ After a moment of wiping at his eyes again, eventually Lucifer seems to relax into him more fully and their heads are on perfect level for this kind of intimacy, it's like his dream, Lucifer's shoulder being on level with his face, so Elio turns towards him now, forehead sliding up Lucifer's cheek, temple and when the structure of the skin changes from one moment to the next, that's his first clue, Elio staring straight into red, charred features, the shape of cheekbone still recognizable, however, the strong line of Lucifer's nose, soft lips. This is what people would expect the Devil to look like, isn't it? It should make him draw back in fear, maybe, but Elio only takes a small, hard breath and reaches up with his free hand, cradling the back of the other man's bald head with his fingers spread out wide, keeping him close, keeping their faces pressed together, forehead to temple, cheek to nose, lips to jut of jawline.
As he speaks, his mouth moves over slope of jaw, words becoming slightly slurred as a consequence, but it's alright, it's better if Lucifer feels it rather than hears it, if he can't do both, if he can't have both Elio's voice and his caress. Elio want him touched, most of all. He want him touched and embraced and loved. ]
You're amazing. Please believe me. Please believe me when I say, every part of you is amazing.
[ Only then does he draw away - and not further than his hand is still curving along the slope of Lucifer's scalp, his right arm still holding him close. He blinks up at Lucifer's face, takes in the features that are Lucifer's features but burned, like a metaphor in the flesh. This is what pain looks like. This is regret and self-loathing. This is what he feels and he's showing it to Elio. He's showing it to him and asking not even his acceptance.
[ He feels the heat of Elio's skin as the other man draws even closer, cradling the back of his head and pressing their faces together. For a brief little moment, he feels like he can actually breathe, like Elio's somehow keeping the weight of his head from crushing his chest, his lungs, his heart. When he speaks against the side of his head, though, something registers as wrong, the sensation of his lips sliding over his skin, the somewhat dulled warmth of his exhalations. Lucifer blinks. You're amazing he says. Every part of you and why would he - what does --
Oh.
Oh no.
His breath stutters out of him as Elio draws away and looks, a flash of red reflected in the other man's pupils because he's looking at - he's... Lucifer freezes in place, his red eyes boring into Elio's and he's still touching him, he's still... Blinking rapidly, Lucifer shuts his eyes harshly. Forces himself to change, his features smoothing out. Every part of you he said, meaning the scarred remains of his self-worth, too, because the other man's just seen him, really seen and yet, he's still here. He's not even pulling away.
What is this? How is it possible?
Head tilted sideways, he presses his forehead against Elio's. When he speaks, his voice sounds strange - a combination of hoarseness from crying and wonder, yes, completely unfiltered. ]
I don't understand.
[ He reaches up and covers Elio's hand with his own where it rests against the back of his head. ]
[ It only seems to dawn on Lucifer what has happened after seeing himself reflected in Elio's eyes and Elio feels him freeze in place, his red, red-burning gaze boring into Elio's for a second before he starts rapidly blinking and recalling his human features, as if it's a mask he wears, like an actor, except Elio thinks both sides of him are equally true, they're just also very different and can't easily co-exist. He smiles, a small, soft smile while Lucifer shuts his eyes hard and leans back against him again, forehead against forehead - and when he speaks, his hoarse voice holds remnants of tears as well as wonder. Elio imagines people who see his other face would usually run, and they certainly wouldn't be very understanding, would they? Still, Elio understands. He gets it, he sees him.
Because Lucifer allowed him to.
Because they are sharing something poignant and beautiful and fragile and strong at the same time. They share something Elio hasn't shared with anyone before in his life, not even Oliver, maybe least of all Oliver. A part of him wants to cry at the intensity of his feelings, but it isn't his turn tonight. He can dream about Lucifer later and cry afterwards, that'll be his own time.
Maybe, after this, he could hope Lucifer would bring the next apricot tree himself.
Then, the other man reaches up and covers Elio's hand with his own, his big, strong hand, bigger and stronger than Elio's, fingers that go on for octaves. Elio basks in the touch a long moment, before saying, angling his head a bit and pressing a kiss to Lucifer's cheek, just a brief pressure of lips. ]
[ Elio kisses his cheek, sweetly, softly, and tells him - oh. Honestly. Lucifer pauses for half a second, gaze following the lines of shadow currently tracking across Elio's features. Then, he can't help it, for some reason, it just -
He laughs.
It's barely more than a chuckle, true, but it's a laugh all the same, his shoulders shaking lightly as he presses his forehead against Elio's shoulder, wondering how and why and all sorts of other questions that no one will ever answer for him. Breathing in deeply, he finally allows Elio's scent to linger in his system, allows himself to think about it, to colourize it. Light, he thinks. Warm. Like a star, actually, and how's that for cosmic humour? If it didn't feel so bloody amazing, he'd blame his father - as it is, though, there's no explanation he can understand at this point and maybe, right now, he'll simply have to... deal with that.
Like he'll have to deal with everything else.
Sniffling, he finally straightens up a bit, enough that he isn't actively leaning against Elio like a tree that's tumbled over. He's looking at him still, eyes wide, as he reaches up with his free hand, running two fingers down the side of his face gently, over cheekbone, cheek, jaw. Finally, he presses them against the other man's full lips, tracing them for a moment before leaning in. He's not thinking about it, about what he's chasing - and maybe that's just because he honestly doesn't know, this doesn't make any sense to him, apart from how it eases him, balm-like. He just presses his lips against Elio's, lightly first, then a little bit harder, his scent mixing with his taste and doubling the sensation of you, here and now.
The way his shoulders aren't shaking from tears this time, the sound of his chuckle, the ease with which he presses his forehead against Elio's shoulder, Elio still caressing the back of his head, strands of hair tickling his knuckles. Beautiful. So, Elio lets him, allows him to hang onto him, to breathe him in, be as close to him as he'd like. In turn, he is basking in Lucifer's nearness, the way they seem to compliment each other right now, how they're somehow evenly matched, he can't describe it better than that. Something about puzzles. Something about pieces, fitting.
As the other man draws back, Elio stops wondering about it, though. It's not important, it might be important eventually, but right now they're just the two of them in Elio's small studio apartment, his couch/bed and Lucifer, wide-eyed, touching the side of his face with his fingers, cheekbone, cheek, jaw and then, oh. He traces Elio's lips, corner of mouth to corner of mouth, fingertips making Elio's skin tingle. He remembers Oliver, suddenly, at Monet's berm, doing the same thing, tracing his lips before kissing him, to give him the satisfaction, have it over with, that obsession.
Please don't. Please don't let it be anything like that.
But when Lucifer leans in and kisses him, it's nothing like that time at Monet's berm.
Lucifer doesn't keep his distance, neither does he enforce it, the pressure of his lips growing from light to slightly harder, obviously asking for more - and Elio breathes in harshly through his nose, parting his lips to invite him in, to have the full taste of him in his mouth. Slowly, carefully, he reaches up with both hands, cupping the other man's face from either side and brushing his thumbs over the hard edge of his jaw, finding stubble, finding smooth skin. The tension seems to have dissipated. Elio's glad. Like that, he kisses him back.
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no subject
Kitchen. Windows. Oh, and a grand that definitely doesn't belong to him. The good people at Steinway do so enjoy giving out favours themselves, don't they. There's a reason he's got two of their instruments at home, obviously, they've got things in common. He looks down at his hands while Elio clears the couch and sits down at the end of it.
Things in common, certainly. And some that set them apart in the worst of ways. Presumably, hm. He doesn't know whether they've in fact murdered anyone at Steinway's or how. Frankly, it's surprisingly hard to tell - those people mean business. He frowns at Elio's question, glancing over at him. ]
I don't. Want to talk.
[ He wets his lips again. Moves to the piano and looks it over, brushing his fingers over the lid. ]
Tried talking, you see, and it didn't work.
[ He takes a deep breath, the air shuddering out of him on exhalation. She'd looked beyond terrified, Linda, and not because he'd killed his brother, oh no. At that, she'd merely nodded. Like she'd expected no better of him, like it didn't even surprise her. What truly set her off, well! Lucifer, naturally! As he is, regardless of his actions.
He has to turn away from the piano to avoid smashing a hole in it. Instead, he paces back to the couch, looking down at Elio. Paces away. Paces back. Repeat. Repeat. ]
no subject
Tried talking, and it didn't work.
Elio nods, slowly. You might imagine what would happen if Lucifer told anyone else that he'd killed his brother, people who didn't know or didn't truly believe who he was, what he was, what world order he was part of. Elio is only containing the info like this, because he thinks he understands how all Lucifer's real battles exist on another plane and the scale of them fits heavenly proportions. In a Heaven where a father casts out his son for rebelling, what is the next logical step? The next horrible, inhumane call to make? Even people kill people and often for a good reason, why wouldn't the Devil - who represents all of humanity, too?
A slow exhalation, to counter Lucifer's shaking one. ] Then, we won't talk. [ His voice is soft, but self-assured, it's just a statement of fact. It isn't about sating his curiosity, this, it's not about explaining things to him he holds little chance of understanding, even with all the explanations in the world. It's the other way around, Elio's here for him. Whatever he needs and he doesn't want to talk, he says, turning away from the piano and looking equal parts nauseous and rage-filled which should maybe frighten him, but doesn't do that either. No, Elio wants to touch him, he wants to wrap his fingers around him, his hand, his wrist, cup his face, stroking his thumb over his jawline until it loses some of the tension.
As Lucifer paces back and forth, coming within touching distance and removing himself again, Elio just follows him with his eyes. Finally, after a few restless circles, Elio reaches out as the other man comes close enough again, grabs his hand and wraps both his own around it. It's not a hold, he isn't keeping him from putting distance between them again, should he want to. It's a gesture. Stay, it says, do what you have to, say whatever you have to. It mirrors the first day they met, Elio holding his hand on Lucifer's balcony, presuming nothing by it. ]
Like I already told you yesterday, I'm here regardless.
no subject
Then, Elio takes his hand between both of his, his grip as un-presumptuous as it was when Lucifer had him over during the murder case. He stares down between them, at their linked hands, thinking he could pull away as easily as he draws breath. But he doesn't. For a long moment, he simply stands there, Elio's warmth spreading across his own skin, sweet and gentle and unhurried. I'm here, he says.
Lucifer looks away, then. Settles down gingerly on the couch next to Elio before withdrawing his hand, curling it against his own knee instead and feeling quite hopelessly lost. He thinks about the two of them yesterday, on the verge of another meaningless fuck, how they'd shifted away from it. He can't remember doing anything like that before, not ever. With a deep, exhausted sigh, he finally tips sideways a little, leaning his shoulder against Elio's. There's a part of him that feels wretched for it, for touching him when he hasn't... when he can't even find a way to punish himself sufficiently, to bring his brother some sort of justice, untimely as these things always are.
Instead, he's asking for what? Comfort? Understanding?
He shuts his eyes tightly, tears spilling down his cheeks. He wipes at them a bit uselessly, though he doesn't draw away or try to hide them. Please. He's a murderer. There's quite enough to be ashamed of, thanks, without adding basic feelings to the mix. ]
no subject
He's crying. Lucifer's crying openly and without shame and Elio loves him for it, loves him for showing him this part of himself, too. He makes a soft hmm'ing sound, biting his lower lip and leaning back against the other man, letting him feel his weight and his presence in return. ]
I know nothing's okay, Lucifer.
[ He's listening, he's hearing what he is saying and to whatever degree it matters, Elio understands. Killing your brother will upset the world order as you knew it, it will turn everything upside down, what you loved about yourself, you'll grow to hate and what you hated, you'll only hate more. He can't even imagine the feeling of it. The scale, the size, the weight in your chest. How much your heart must break.
But he's willing to stay and carry and hold together what's left, because what's left, he thinks and turns his head, looking sideways at the other man as he wipes at his face, tears trickling down his cheeks, nose, lips, what's left is perfect just like this. ]
But you can let it out. I don't mind.
no subject
You can let it out, says Elio and he sounds so incredibly sincere, like he really does mean it, it's not just a baseless platitude, something you say for the sake of empty comfort. The other man's here, after all, he's touching him and leaving him be at the same time and Lucifer didn't even know you could do that. Is that what people do? You can talk to me about it, Chloe had said, but offering an ear isn't the same as this. Somehow, this feels bigger. Like the difference between taking a deep breath whilst standing in an empty room versus doing so from a rooftop beneath the open sky.
I don't mind.
Lucifer doesn't feel his face changing. It happens sometimes like that. Consequently, as he leans his (bald, burned) head against the side of Elio's face, he doesn't realise exactly what he's doing, too caught up in the weightlessness in his body, how he can't feel anything but this endless, boundless grief. ]
no subject
As he speaks, his mouth moves over slope of jaw, words becoming slightly slurred as a consequence, but it's alright, it's better if Lucifer feels it rather than hears it, if he can't do both, if he can't have both Elio's voice and his caress. Elio want him touched, most of all. He want him touched and embraced and loved. ]
You're amazing. Please believe me. Please believe me when I say, every part of you is amazing.
[ Only then does he draw away - and not further than his hand is still curving along the slope of Lucifer's scalp, his right arm still holding him close. He blinks up at Lucifer's face, takes in the features that are Lucifer's features but burned, like a metaphor in the flesh. This is what pain looks like. This is regret and self-loathing. This is what he feels and he's showing it to Elio. He's showing it to him and asking not even his acceptance.
So Elio accepts without hesitation. ]
no subject
Oh.
Oh no.
His breath stutters out of him as Elio draws away and looks, a flash of red reflected in the other man's pupils because he's looking at - he's... Lucifer freezes in place, his red eyes boring into Elio's and he's still touching him, he's still... Blinking rapidly, Lucifer shuts his eyes harshly. Forces himself to change, his features smoothing out. Every part of you he said, meaning the scarred remains of his self-worth, too, because the other man's just seen him, really seen and yet, he's still here. He's not even pulling away.
What is this? How is it possible?
Head tilted sideways, he presses his forehead against Elio's. When he speaks, his voice sounds strange - a combination of hoarseness from crying and wonder, yes, completely unfiltered. ]
I don't understand.
[ He reaches up and covers Elio's hand with his own where it rests against the back of his head. ]
You - you are...
[ Remarkable, he thinks. ]
no subject
Because Lucifer allowed him to.
Because they are sharing something poignant and beautiful and fragile and strong at the same time. They share something Elio hasn't shared with anyone before in his life, not even Oliver, maybe least of all Oliver. A part of him wants to cry at the intensity of his feelings, but it isn't his turn tonight. He can dream about Lucifer later and cry afterwards, that'll be his own time.
Maybe, after this, he could hope Lucifer would bring the next apricot tree himself.
Then, the other man reaches up and covers Elio's hand with his own, his big, strong hand, bigger and stronger than Elio's, fingers that go on for octaves. Elio basks in the touch a long moment, before saying, angling his head a bit and pressing a kiss to Lucifer's cheek, just a brief pressure of lips. ]
You're not difficult to like.
no subject
He laughs.
It's barely more than a chuckle, true, but it's a laugh all the same, his shoulders shaking lightly as he presses his forehead against Elio's shoulder, wondering how and why and all sorts of other questions that no one will ever answer for him. Breathing in deeply, he finally allows Elio's scent to linger in his system, allows himself to think about it, to colourize it. Light, he thinks. Warm. Like a star, actually, and how's that for cosmic humour? If it didn't feel so bloody amazing, he'd blame his father - as it is, though, there's no explanation he can understand at this point and maybe, right now, he'll simply have to... deal with that.
Like he'll have to deal with everything else.
Sniffling, he finally straightens up a bit, enough that he isn't actively leaning against Elio like a tree that's tumbled over. He's looking at him still, eyes wide, as he reaches up with his free hand, running two fingers down the side of his face gently, over cheekbone, cheek, jaw. Finally, he presses them against the other man's full lips, tracing them for a moment before leaning in. He's not thinking about it, about what he's chasing - and maybe that's just because he honestly doesn't know, this doesn't make any sense to him, apart from how it eases him, balm-like. He just presses his lips against Elio's, lightly first, then a little bit harder, his scent mixing with his taste and doubling the sensation of you, here and now.
Just you.
Imagine. ]
no subject
The way his shoulders aren't shaking from tears this time, the sound of his chuckle, the ease with which he presses his forehead against Elio's shoulder, Elio still caressing the back of his head, strands of hair tickling his knuckles. Beautiful. So, Elio lets him, allows him to hang onto him, to breathe him in, be as close to him as he'd like. In turn, he is basking in Lucifer's nearness, the way they seem to compliment each other right now, how they're somehow evenly matched, he can't describe it better than that. Something about puzzles. Something about pieces, fitting.
As the other man draws back, Elio stops wondering about it, though. It's not important, it might be important eventually, but right now they're just the two of them in Elio's small studio apartment, his couch/bed and Lucifer, wide-eyed, touching the side of his face with his fingers, cheekbone, cheek, jaw and then, oh. He traces Elio's lips, corner of mouth to corner of mouth, fingertips making Elio's skin tingle. He remembers Oliver, suddenly, at Monet's berm, doing the same thing, tracing his lips before kissing him, to give him the satisfaction, have it over with, that obsession.
Please don't. Please don't let it be anything like that.
But when Lucifer leans in and kisses him, it's nothing like that time at Monet's berm.
Lucifer doesn't keep his distance, neither does he enforce it, the pressure of his lips growing from light to slightly harder, obviously asking for more - and Elio breathes in harshly through his nose, parting his lips to invite him in, to have the full taste of him in his mouth. Slowly, carefully, he reaches up with both hands, cupping the other man's face from either side and brushing his thumbs over the hard edge of his jaw, finding stubble, finding smooth skin. The tension seems to have dissipated. Elio's glad. Like that, he kisses him back.
Maybe, just maybe they can share this, too. ]